


Metal Gear What?

by hikari_datenshi (Salamander)



Category: British Comedian RPF, Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamander/pseuds/hikari_datenshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Brooker trapped in video games - the game in question is Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty (Substance edition).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metal Gear What?

Charlie blinks – once – twice – and on the opening of his eyes and the clearing of his vision, things feel... different somehow. He was pretty sure that his clothes weren't fitting so tight to his skin before. Who'd lounge around wearing a leotard all day, anyway? No one, that's who, and that's why he wasn't. Well, no, the reason he wasn't previously lounging around wearing a leotard was because that would make him a raging nonce, and he wasn't about to start an impromptu modern dance routine in his living room upon successfully choking some Russians. And he certainly wouldn't ever dream of performing some sort of interpretive mime whenever he got killed. That would be weird.

So why, then, was he wearing what appeared to be a skin tight body suit? There were straps criss-crossing all over his body in places where no straps should ever go, pulling him in and holding all sorts of, oh god. Those were guns. He had guns. And grenades. And... a carefully packed _what the fuck_? Was that a cardboard box? Okay, so he had a cardboard box. He could live with that. And then there was a voice in his ear. A posh-sounding, slightly nasal voice that appeared to be panicking.

"What the everloving fuck?" the voice said. Charlie winced at the volume. "I mean seriously. Why am I sat in a nest of computers?"

"David, is that you?"

"Of course it's me, you idiot. What the hell is going on?"

"Could you lower your voice a bit? You're going to bloody burst my eardrum here."

"Oh. Sorry," David lowered his voice, but the edge of panic was still there.

"And as for what's going on. Tell me what you're wearing."

"_Excuse me_?"

"Come on, we don't have all day. I'm currently crouching behind an appropriately large box, and there is literally an entire room of fucking marines less than a metre away. Not a good time to be panicking!"

"Oh. Oh, well in that case, I'm wearing a lab coat or something," there was a pause as David presumably looked at himself. "And I'm wearing glasses. Which is a bit weird, I'm sure I was wearing contacts a minute ago."

"Yes well, a minute ago I wasn't wearing a fucking skin-tight army suit, David. Nor was I toting guns or in a room full of marines, so yes, it _is_ a bit weird."

"Any ideas?"

"Well, I think, and don't quote me on this, but. Well, I was playing Metal Gear Solid, right-"

"I'm sorry, Metal Gear what?"

"It's a video game, David," Charlie sighed. "Stop interrupting me. Tactical Espionage Action, to be precise. And I think you're Otacon, the nerdy scientist type. You know." He waved a hand around and then felt like a twat when he realised that David couldn't see it. "Anyway. I reckon I'm this guy called Snake, right. He goes around tranquillising Russians and generally saving the day."

"Oh great, why do you get to be the swashbuckling hero and I have to be the science nerd? I don't even _like_ science!"

"David, you're panicking again. Stop panicking, the marines will hear you. And anyway, Snake doesn't swashbuckle. He's not a pirate."

"Well I don't know, do I?" David snapped. "What are you even doing in a room full of marines anyway, if you're supposed to be _stealth action espionaging_"

Charlie could almost _hear_ the air quotes. "Yes, I am. But, and this is a big but, I have to take pictures of this thing, right, called Metal Gear RAY. So we can expose the marines involvement, blah blah you don't need to know this. Just let me know if you see anything dangerous, like explosives strapped to the wall, will you? I don't fancy dying. I mean, I might _actually_ die! You know, like how people say if you die in a dream you'll die in real life too."

"Well, I don't think this is a dream," David said, doubtfully. "But do try not to die, either way."

"I'll try my hardest. Right, I'm gonna you know. Try and crawl underneath these projector things."

"Good luck!" David was trying really hard not to sound worried, but Charlie heard it in his voice anyway. He supposed that he should be grateful that David was worrying about him, but he filed that thought, and the rather worrying feelings that inexplicably accompanied it, away for later. His more immediate worry was that massive fuck-off room full of bastarding marines being talked at by some military big-shot whose name he always managed to forget. He knew exactly what to do: crawl under the projectors, wait 'til the marines turned to the left, leg it down the right side of the room without walking on the clattery floor panels, slip through the door, crawl through the vent- oh fuck that shit. Charlie looked down at the folded box attached to his waist and sighed heavily. How the hell would he even get the box to fit over him? He – no, he was Snake now, and he wasn't exactly of a dancer's physique, even when he was in his own body. _Maybe Snake was bendy or something_, Charlie thought, and he unfolded the box. It said 'ORANGES' on the side in cheerful letters. _Fuck you_, he thought. _Fuck you right in the arse, orange box._ He rolled his eyes and lifted the box until his head was inside it and he sort of... folded himself up as best he could. _How the fuck am I supposed to fit in this_, he asked himself, as he crouched desperately behind the sparse cover. The box covered his head and his shoulders, barely, and most of his torso, but it left his knees and legs pathetically uncovered. _Oh well_, he thought. He would have shrugged, but he felt that the box would have dislodged if he did.

Right. Onward to glory and all that! Time to impress Otac- Mitchell with his ace photography. Yeah.

How he managed to get across the room and uploading those photos was sort of a dream, really. He'd sort of... blinked and then he was in front of the uploading unit.

"What the hell is that?" David's voice punched through his haze of confusion. "Is that... Charlie, is that your thumb?"

Charlie peered at the unit. It totally wasn't his thumb. Honestly, totally not his thumb, and it certainly wasn't obscuring half of the 'marines' logo, stamped on the side. Luckily, there was one more that only had half of a thumb, and the last six on the camera had various shots of RAY that were either too close, too far, inexplicably blurry or upside down. David sighed and proclaimed that they would have to do, blurs and thumbs and all, and then suddenly it was like images were being pumped directly into Charlie's eyeballs. His eyes rolled back into his head – he knew because of the horrendous dull ache that punctured his skull – it was like being repeatedly stabbed through the pupil with a rusty nail. Which was on fire, and oozing wasps, which were stinging him rapidly and without mercy through the eyelids.

There was a man – he knew that his name was Ocelot, Revolver Ocelot, which was totally the coolest name in the world, and he had a fabulous moustache – and he killed a fuckload of marines, stole RAY, and then everything pretty much went to shit.

Charlie plunged underwater. It filled his ears, his eyes scrunched closed and all he could think was _oh fuck, I got David into this, he'll never let me hear the end of it_ and then all was blackness, his ears ringing with the sound of that voice screaming his name over and over and didn't he know that it wasn't game over he mustn't know poor David


End file.
